“We were cuddling when I fell asleep!” I call out. All the horror stories I’ve heard come back to haunt me. She better not have escaped. It’s what ferrets are known for.

I glance at the bedroom door. It’s closed, so she has to be in here with me.

I cross over to the bathroom. Sometimes she likes to hide in the discarded towels, because in addition to sleeping in Bancroft’s bed I’ve also taken to using his shower. It’s even nicer than the one in my room, and slightly more complicated, but I managed to figure it out without scalding myself.

She’s not in the bathroom, though.

“Ruby?”

“She’s in here somewhere!” I glance at the bed and note movement near the pillows. A little brown head peeks out from inside the case. “There she is.” I return to the bed and scoop her up, then prop my phone against the headboard so I can hold her and talk with free hands.

“You scared me,” I coo at her, my voice cracking a little. “Daddy wants to see you.” I’m so relieved that I haven’t lost her, tears spring to my eyes. I blink them back as I hold Francesca in front of my face and wave one of her little paws at Bancroft.

“Are you coming down with something?” he asks.

“No, no. I’m fine,” I assure him, even though I’m not. I almost think I have things under control and then he asks the one question designed to put me over the edge.

“How’d the audition go today?”

I open my mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a squeak. And those stupid tears leak out of the corners of my eyes.

“Ruby?”

Francesca squirms out of my grasp when I wave a hand around in the air. I’m trying to breathe, but I can’t seem to manage it without making horrible high-pitched sounds.

“Babe, what’s wrong?”

I try to get myself under control. At least a little. I stammer out, “I-I b-bombed the audition.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

“I fell on my face in the middle of my dance routine. I have a bruise on my cheek.” I lean in closer so he can see the slight bluish tint to my cheek. It’s tender to the touch.

Bancroft purses his lips. “I’m so sorry.”

“What if I can’t do this? What if I end up having to go back to Rhode Island to live with my father and whore-mother? What if I have to go work for my father? What if his skank wife really is my boss?” The panic is starting to set in again. I don’t want to have an emotional breakdown on Bancroft. I don’t want him to think I’m some loopy, unstable nutter. I want to have my life sorted out, like Amie does.

I need to get my shit together before Bancroft comes home. Because the more I talk to him, the more I want to do more than talk to him. At this point I want to do more than just get naked with him, but I definitely still want to do that, and sometimes it feels like maybe he wants the same thing. But he’s not going to want anything to do with an unemployed, homeless crybaby with more than ten thousand dollars in credit card and loan debt.

My internal pep talk isn’t helping with the tears.

“Maybe my dad’s right. Maybe I can’t hack it. I just wanted to I prove him wrong.” My voice is still pitchy.

“Take a breath, Ruby.” Bancroft’s voice is soft, lilting.

I do as he says and suck in a deep breath.

“That’s it, babe, good girl. Take another one for me.”

I take another slower, deeper breath.

He nods his approval. “And another.”

I keep taking deep breaths until the panic subsides. “I’m so embarrassed,” I mutter when I get myself under control again.

“Don’t be. You’ve had a rough day, it knocks you down a little. You have to get back up and brush it off.”

I let out a soft laugh.

“I have complete confidence that you’ll get a role, you’re too talented not to.”

He’s never seen me act or dance. He’s heard me sing, because I do it unconsciously sometimes. He’ll put on music while we’re talking just to make me hum. “I wish I had the confidence in me that you seem to.”

“You know what I’d do if I was there with you?” His voice is so soothing. I want to know what that sounds like in my ear with his body covering mine and no clothes getting in the way.

“What’s that?” I sound less pitchy and more breathy.

“I’d get you drunk.”

“And then take advantage of me?” I mean it to be sarcastic, not hopeful. How mortifying.

His expression turns serious. “I’d hope I wouldn’t have to resort to such tactics to get you into bed with me.”

“Well, I’m already in your bed, so we’re halfway there aren’t we?”

Bancroft’s tongue sweeps out to wet his bottom lip. “I think you should pour yourself a glass of wine. I have a bottle here. We can drink together.”

“Did you have a bad day, too?”

“I’ve had better.”

I grab my phone and carry it to the kitchen so I can raid his wine fridge. I decide on a crisp white. Also, his sheets aren’t dark enough for me to consider drinking red.

Once I’ve poured myself a glass I return to the bedroom. Francesca is curled up on top of the comforter. As soon as I’m half lying down, she pulls her favorite move and wriggles her way under my shirt, peeking her head out through the neckline, between my boobs.

I show Bancroft, who seems to appreciate her choice of location. He tells me about his day, about a multimillion dollar mistake someone on his team made, and about the phone call from his father. His troubles don’t necessarily make me feel better, but they certainly put my own into perspective. At least one small error isn’t going to cost me millions.

Chapter 11: Party Time

RUBY

On account of my bombing my audition Amie forces me into accompanying her to the party I was intent on avoiding. She thinks I need to get out and have some fun. I think a pint of Ben and Jerry’s sounds like a better time than spending my evening with a bunch of stuck-up snobs, but I haven’t seen much of Amie since moving into Bancroft’s condo, so I relent.

When Amie said “party” I stupidly assumed it meant there would be lots of people to mingle with. I could put on my “Ruby Snob” face, impart the occasional witty response, and rotate through the guests, air kissing and smiling. I also assumed it would be in a hall, or a ballroom of some kind, as is typical.